You Say Tomato
by RumAndNukaCola
Summary: Worlds collide and The Lone Wanderer finds herself on the Courier's turf. Can they work together, or is it a recipe for disaster? AU, Some Courier/Benny, LW/Butch, smidgens of implied Courier/Boone.  But only smidgens.


Connie had seen her fair share of shit in her life. She'd seen people maimed, children's bodies, entire units massacred.

But nothing made her as uncomfortable as being in this cocktail lounge.

The majority of those habituating it were something else; well dressed, groomed, head held high in an air of perhaps undeserving dignity. Connie, on the other hand, was standing in the doorway next to the somewhat overly friendly Securitron, covered in dirt, in torn and dirty clothes and with a rather bad wound in her arm from where they'd had to dig out a Radscorpion sting while Butch stood there gawking at the fact the cocktail lounge seemed to be rotating.

"Jaw, Butch." She whispered, the first of many eyes settling on the as the Securitron led them through the lounge.

"Connie, it's _movin'. _Cut me some slack, girl."

She didn't respond, instead following the Securitron and trying to figure out which one of these people was the one who summoned her here, although this was proving to be a difficult task seeing as she had little to go on. Eventually they were led to a small, roped-off area, guarded by a man in a red beret who was staring very menacingly at the two. This area was the cleanest and most polished of the cocktail lounge, with a few small tables surrounded a large, semi-circle booth.

"I've brought the two visitors, just like you asked, Ma'am." The Securitron announced to a woman sitting in the center of the booth. A half smile appeared on her painted lips as she dismissed him.

"Thankyou, Yes Man. That's all for now. Go make sure the rest of our guests are taken care of." She ordered, her tone polite yet firm. She looked up at the two from her book, smiling and gesturing to two seats that had been placed in front of the booth, presumably for them. "Please, sit. Can I offer you a drink?"

"Oh, uh, I don't know, this seems a bit... pricey." Connie quietly stuttered much to Butch's apparent dismay as they took their seats. The woman chuckled.

"Nonsense. On the house, anything you like. I wouldn't invite you here for business and expect you to pay for drinks. You're my guests."

Connie's eyes flicked straight to Butch, who wasn't even going to wait for her approval, as usual. "Give me anything with Scotch. Hell, just give me some Scotch." The woman turned her eyes to Connie now.

"Uh, just some water, thank you. I'm not feeling 100%."

The woman turned to a nearby Securitron, making the order and watching it as it rolled off to the nearest bar, pushing past other patrons. She turned back to the two, smiling a smile that seemed practiced but still felt genuine and calm in it's delivery. "I trust the Securitrons at the Freeside Gate didn't give you too much trouble."

Connie perked an eyebrow. "Not at all. Although we did see one of them shoot someone trying to get in."

"Hm." The woman sighed. "A shame, but necessary. In order to keep the Strip the haven it is, we have... certain policies on entry."

"Like a credit check." Connie crossed her arms.

"No more so than your average strip club, I assure you. The visitors of the Strip feel safe enough to walk around unarmed, and I plan to keep it this way." The woman looked down to the table, taking a pack of cigarettes in her hand and removing one, moving to offer one to Connie before noticing she was about to light her own. "Now," she began, lifting her cigarette to her mouth and lighting it, giving a long exhale. "I suppose we should get down to business, then."

"Yes. Let's." Connie's patience was wearing thin, which probably had something to do with the temperature she was running.

The woman watched as a waitress brought them a full bottle of scotch, which Butch almost leaped on, and a jug of ice water. "Your exploits, the tales of the Lone Wanderer, are things of legend around here. I hear so much about DC..."

"I hear a lot about you, too." Connie interrupted.

"Is that so?"

"They call you the Courier, yeah? Slaughtered the Legion, killed Mr House and then made New Vegas your own. Not bad for someone who was shot in the head."

She gave a genuine smile now, a small laugh following. "Thank you, I do try. I was unaware they spoke of me in DC."

"Could say the same about myself."

"Two years is a very long time for news of a lone girl from the Vault defeating the NCR and saving Project Purity to travel. Which I suppose is why I asked you here."

Connie eyed her suspiciously. "Project Purity?"

"Yes. How's that... working out right now?"

Connie relaxed a little in her seat. "Fine. We're still not running at optimum power, and clean water is still being distributed by the Brotherhood, but we're doing what we can with what he have."

"How would you like to run at optimum?"

Connie's eyes thinned in curiosity. "What are you offering, Courier?"

"Call me Joan," She began, flicking some cigarette ash into her ash tray. "I'm offering you a chance to... form a beneficial alliance, if you will. You'll be welcome to our tech and support in exchange for some permissions."

"What _kind_ of permissions?"

"I want to send my people in there. There's a lot of business opportunities in DC, lots of Vaults that can be cleared out, turned into housing or even casinos."

"So you want to expand you empire?"

"I wouldn't call it an _empire..._ but I am looking to expand horizons, yes. Connie, my dear, I'm simply trying to help you out. Think of how many people's lives would improve from the jobs my business would create. Think of how many more would have access to free water. Think of what I could _do_ with a Vault. You grew up in one, did you not?"

Connie butted out her cigarette and reached for some water. "You've got Vaults here."

"Nowhere near as well preserved as your own. It would take us years to purge some of ours out, yours? We could have them refitted and in working order again by then. All I'm asking for is some wiggle room. Help us clean up DC and we'll help you clean up the water."

"Look," Connie took a sip from her glass, wiping her brow. "We've got the best damned minds in DC and, as far as I'm concerned, the country, working on Project Purity. What can you possibly offer us that we can't do ourselves?"

"Hoover Dam." She bluntly replied, a smirk on her face. "There's technology in there that I _know_ can help Project Purity, but you don't have access to it."

"Then I'll get it myself."

"You won't have access. Not to sound as though I'm making a threat, but the NCR would shoot you down before you even reached the perimeter. In case you hadn't heard, they only just narrowly saved it from the Legion, and they're not about to take any chances, especially from someone who single handily destroyed an Enclave base. I, however, _can_ grant you not only access, but a full research team if you want. Hell, I'll even provide safe transport for your _own_ if you so desire."

Connie was silent for a few moments, feeling Butch's gaze on her. "...And all you want in return is to occupy part of DC?"

"Occupy?" Joan laughed once more, twisting out her cigarette in the ash tray. "Connie, I'm not the enemy. I'm not going to invade your land, rape your people and enslave 101." Joan watched as the mention of the Vault made Connie breath in sharply. "All I want is business. Simple as that. Worse comes to worse, my ventures fail, we run out of caps and we leave quietly. Besides, I don't think you understand, having a set of my eyes and ears will only serve to benefit your people. Should the Enclave try to rear it's ugly little head again, you'll have a small army of my associates backing you. And trust me," Joan wiggled in her seat a little in a way that made Connie extremely jealous. "We have a _lot_ of firepower behind us."

Connie sat silently for a few moments, trying to think this over and ignore the cold sweat on her brow. She swallowed deeply and took a long, deep breath, before giving a shudder.

"Connie." Butch's voice whispered to her, his hand on her shoulder. "Babe, you ain't lookin' too flash. You alright?" Connie didn't respond, but instead shook her head. Butch looked up from her to Joan, who was frowning in concern.

"Am I right with assuming this has to do with your friend's wound? I did notice it was looking a tad... discoloured."

"Connie got stung by one of them Radscorpions you got out here, they ain't like the ones we got in DC." Butch explained, brushing some hair back from her face and not taking his eyes off her. "We got the sting out and all, but she ain't been feelin' right since she got here."

"Probably an infection." Joan raised her hand and clicked her fingers. "Benny?" She called, looking around, but glancing back to check on the two. Within a few moments, a man appeared at the table, well dressed but not blended in. "Benny, help these two to the spare room in the Presidential Suite, I'm going to find Arcade."

The next hour or two was fuzzy for Connie. Benny and Butch helped carry her to the elevator, a blond Dr came and saw to her wounds. Connie began to drift in and out of conciousness.

"You sure she's gonna be okay?"

"She should be fine. I've given her some antibiotics and put her on a drip, which is all I can really do. She's stable, though."

"I'm sure she'll pull through." A female voice spoke. "She's seen worse than an infection, I'm sure. You're welcome to stay here as long as you need. Should you need anything, I'm leaving you in Benny's capable hands."

Another voice interjected. "Hey! Pussycat, I got my own joint to run, remember?"

"Not right now you don't. Let Swank take care of it."

"But-"

"Benny!" There was a short silence, before she continued. "I have business to attend to, if Benny doesn't fill out his end of the bargain, uh..."

"Butch."

"...Butch. If he doesn't fill out his end of the bargain, my Securitrons will help you find me. Keep me updated."

The door closed and Connie drifted off again.


End file.
